Vladimir of the Rovers

At the end of June, Chelsea was a business in close-season turmoil, nervous of opening letters from banks. The debts were so significant that the club could no longer afford to keep its star attraction and no one was arriving to fill Zola's boots. The fans talked about how Mario Stanic might get a pretty good showing next year. One thing was certain: it was going to be a quiet summer.

At the beginning of July, a man no one had heard of, with a name few could pronounce, arrived at Stamford Bridge with a few henchmen and a translator to sign a deal that changed football. Roman Abramovich, 36, had made his money in oil, had an uneasy relationship with Russian President Vladimir Putin and knew little about British football and less about Chelsea. When he first flew over west London he mistook Stamford Bridge for Craven Cottage, which no one else had ever done in the history of the world.

The word Chelski first appeared on the club's internet chat site on 1 July and the spree has yet to let up. The trick now is to find a headline without a pun about Roman or wealth, or a fan of another team who isn't dismissive yet jealous. The enduring image of the affair was taken two days after Abramovich took over, when Sven-Göran Eriksson called on him at his London apartment. This looked bad for Claudio Ranieri and England, but good for Joe Cole, Juan Sebastian Veron, Hernán Crespo and anyone Eriksson had ever worked with. Eriksson explained that these meetings had happened before (the two were brought together by the agent Pini Zahavi). 'I have known Roman Abramovich for several months,' the England coach explained, 'and during that time have also enjoyed socialising with him when he is in London.' What swell parties those must have been!

Then Chelsea signed Glen Johnson and the rest of the gang, and the fans started waving wallets and asking rival supporters whether they should buy a player for them. On cue, Chelsea bought Alexei Smertin, who went on immediate loan to Portsmouth.

At the start of the season, some bright spark had the idea to play a Russian folk song a few minutes before the team took the field for home games. 'Kalinka' was a song about juniper berries and the Slavic goddess Lyuli, and the crowd claps along in frantic appreciation as it builds up speed. Inevitably the big screens fill with the beaming new owner, who is clapping along like everyone else, as if he can't quite believe it himself.

I spent a Saturday afternoon in a tier overlooking Abramovich's prime matchday enclosure at the ground and it was tough to concentrate on the football. Up close he looks like a child who has just eaten too much jelly at a birthday party. He reacts to the near-miss with a head-clutch, and he high-fives his friends when his charges score. Does he care that he has made it harder for other clubs to compete in the transfer market? Not very much.

After the thrashings of Lazio and Newcastle, Ranieri looks as secure as he'll ever be, and Eriksson employed five Chelsea men in a friendly. Many fans believe that the only missing piece in the jigsaw is a league victory against Arsenal and a slightly sharper turnstile man at the front of the diamond in the Lower East Stand. Only 25 non-shopping days until the fantasy resumes. All hail, Vladimir of the Rovers.